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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517150">The Levenfish Variation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConverseLove64/pseuds/ConverseLove64'>ConverseLove64</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Queen's Gambit (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bi Benny Watts, Bi Beth Harmon, Bisexual Character, Developing Friendships, Domestic, Drug Addiction, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Living Together, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Depression, Romance, Slow Burn, Withdrawal, maybe???? we'll see, the fact that Benny and Jolene never met makes me very mad, there will be sexy times eventually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:53:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConverseLove64/pseuds/ConverseLove64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if those boots at the end of Episode 6 were actually Benny’s?</p><p> <br/> <br/>***More tags will be added as I go</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Harmon &amp; Jolene, Beth Harmon &amp; Jolene &amp; Benny Watts, Beth Harmon/Benny Watts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>619</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For anyone wondering about timeline with canon, I'm placing the 1968 Kentucky State Championship the beginning of September. I'm fully aware that it would have been end of October, assuming it's an annual event around the same weekend each year, but I need a bit more time between then and Moscow.</p><p> </p><p>Please let me know what you think of this so far! I have a lot planned, so I hope you're ready for a fun canon divergence :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ow! Damn it! Harry!” Beth yells, stumbling down the stairs before stomping over and jerking open the door. “I told you to leave me alo--“ she’s cut short by the sight of the person in front of her.</p><p>“Benny?”</p><p>“What the hell happened to your face?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.</p><p>“What-- what are you doing here?” she sputters.</p><p>“Harry called,” Benny replies. “He’s worried about you. And if he’s worried, I definitely am.”</p><p>Beth rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know how worried Harry is. I’ve gotten that lecture already. Are you here to lecture me as well? Tell me that I’m spiraling out of control and ruining my life?”</p><p>“Aren’t you? Because from where I’m standing, that seems pretty accurate.”</p><p>She stares him down. The anger, petulance, zero-fucks left to give attitude, and, if she was honest with herself, embarrassment she felt when Harry confronted her are not there. She doesn’t see pity in the coffee-colored eyes returning her gaze. Instead, it’s determination. It’s love. Bitter shame simmers beneath the surface of her skin as her eyes flit to behind Benny. Beth’s not an idiot. She knows what she looks like - what a pathetic fucking drunk she is. It’s hard to look at Benny knowing he’s seeing first hand the worst of her.</p><p>“Look, I understand why you didn’t want to come back to New York after Paris. I let it go when you still didn't come because you were taking care of this house and had things to do and maybe you just didn’t want to make the trip. But then you weren’t answering your phone for ages and then Harry called... to say I was worried is putting it lightly. I was-- I was afraid you’d gone and done something stupid.”</p><p>Beth’s stomach drops. She thinks back to waking up after being knocked out cold for hours, and her mind brings forward that fateful day over a decade ago.</p><p>
  <em>Close your eyes.</em>
</p><p>The words still haunt her. To think even for a second Benny had to fear she was going to meet a similar end - Beth wouldn’t wish that kind of fear on her worst enemy let alone the man in front of her.</p><p>Sure, a short blackout wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but hearing two people - two people she knows on some level care about her - tell her the same thing within hours, even she’s not so far gone to ignore that.</p><p>She sighs, “For what it's worth, I didn’t have a drink the second I walked through the door. I meant it when I said I was doing fine the last time we talked. But since then, I’ll admit things...haven’t been great.”</p><p>“Why don’t you let me in and we can go from there?”</p><p>Beth hesitates just for a moment before letting the door swing open and taking a step back. Once inside, Benny sets down his luggage by the stairs and eyes the living room. There are empty bottles and beer cans littering every surface, and a few dozen cigarette butts are in random empty glasses around the room. Clothes are strewn, half eaten food containers are piled on the piano, and random chess pieces can be found scattered around the coffee table. A few steps more and he swears he can see some rather unpleasant substance in one of her chess trophies.</p><p>“Nice house,” he deadpans.</p><p>Looking at her destroyed home from Benny’s perspective, she’s beyond embarrassed.</p><p>“Like I said, things haven’t been great.”</p><p>“Does the upstairs look any better?”</p><p>“A little, but not much.”</p><p>“Well, point me to the garbage bags. I’ll take down here and you can tackle up there.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’s dark by the time the two chess champions are eating pizza in a much cleaner kitchen. Beth still needs to drop her damaged Bulova off at a repair shop, but she’s wiped off that god-awful makeup and you can see the carpet once again.</p><p>“I was...ashamed,” Beth finally says. “After Paris. That’s why I didn’t-- couldn’t go back to New York. I had just spent the last five weeks without a drop of liquor and all it took was one week away to fall back into old habits. I wasn’t strong enough to say no even when I knew I should. Even when I knew I was playing Borgov the next day and after you had worked so hard to help me. Some part of me knew what would happen, but I still convinced myself it would be different. That I really could just have one drink like a normal person. But...” she trails off. They both know what happened.</p><p>“I couldn’t face you after that. I let myself down. And I let you down, and somehow that was worse. I’m sorry.”</p><p>He nods his acceptance before clearing his throat, “What about this last time? What happened?”</p><p>“It was the day we last spoke. That night I was studying the game pamphlets from the last Moscow Invitational like you told me to and took a break for dinner. There was nothing in the fridge, so I went out to a restaurant. It was pretty much the same thing as Paris. I ordered a Gibson, Alma’s drink of choice, telling myself I would have just one. But there was a singer and a pianist. For a moment, it brought me back to listening to mother play,” she looks forlorn at the piano over Benny’s shoulder.</p><p>“Too many drinks later and a trip to Lex Liquors, it was downhill from there. Haven’t really been sober since.”</p><p><em>Two months,</em> Benny thinks, devastated. He should have come sooner. He didn’t want to think the worst of Beth. He wanted to be wrong - wanted her to just be blowing him off again instead of at the bottom of the bottle. His focus remains on the food in his hand, contemplating his response.</p><p>“Addiction is complicated,” he eventually says, eyes meeting hers. “I don’t know how deep the drinking goes for you, but I think it’s a safe bet that you’ve been doing it a lot longer than not. We can work on it if you’re willing. I can help you, keep you accountable. Be someone you can go to when you get tempted, and we both know you will. But that’s okay. Sobriety is a process and you’re going to slip up here and there. The most important thing is you keep going and keep trying. Just like chess - just like trying to beat Borgov. Sometimes he’s going to win because that’s what the world is used to, but you will beat him in Moscow. And you will beat this.”</p><p>She nods, “I want to try.”</p><p>Benny looks at her, a small smile of pride gracing his lips, “The first step is always the hardest." He deliberates for a moment before saying, "If you don’t mind me asking, when did it start?”</p><p>Beth is only able to look into his eyes for a beat before they flit back to her hands. She doesn't answer right away, fiddling with the crust she had been munching on. Benny doesn't rush her, allowing the silence to blanket over them as she thinks. She takes another bite and swallows, following it with a gulp of water. Decisively, she puts down her food, dusting the crumbs from her fingers. Beth walks into the bathroom silently, coming back a moment later with one of the many glass bottles in her medicine cabinet.</p><p>She sets it on the table, green pills rattling as they make contact.</p><p>“I was eight,” she says, softly.</p><p>“Eight?”</p><p>Her eyes flick to Benny. His face is complete shock. Horror. An underlying current of pity she resents with every fiber of her being.</p><p>“Not by choice - not at first.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“My mother died when I was eight. My real mother - biological,” she adds when she sees Benny’s confusion. "I was sent to an orphanage, Methuen, and they made us take tranquilizers to ‘even our disposition’ as they liked to say.”</p><p>“They gave tranquilizers to children? That’s…”</p><p>“Illegal. Well, now it is. But by the time the laws changed, I was already hooked on them. Everyone I knew there used them as I did - not taking them when we were told and saving them for later to use as we pleased. At times I would take a whole handful at once. I liked the way they made me feel. Still do, clearly. They’re half the reason I got so good at chess,” Beth breathes out a bitter laugh.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“They make your brain...cloudy. Everything’s a haze and in that space I can...” she hesitates. She’s only ever told two people this: Mr. Shaibel and that teacher from the local high school when she was too young to know any better. For some reason it feels deeply personal and part of her that most people wouldn’t understand. Mr. Ganz looked at her like she was a deity. An otherworldly being. But if anyone could understand - <em>really</em> understand - it’s Benny.</p><p>“When I’m on them, I see a chessboard on the ceiling,” she pauses, weighing Benny’s reaction.</p><p>He just nods, acknowledging and encouraging her to continue.</p><p>“I can play game after game, see patterns I can’t normally see. The pieces move effortlessly, instinctually. Even when I wasn’t practicing with Mr. Shaibel in the basement, I could still play. They make me a better player. Even better than normally.”</p><p>“That’s hard to believe,” he says with a scoff.</p><p>“It’s true. Every hard game I’ve won I’ve been on them. I was losing against Beltik until I stepped away to take a couple. Sometimes I think if I had just taken an extra one or two I could have beaten you the first time around.</p><p>“Anyway, I had stopped for a while. There was an...incident after the pills were banned for children. Tried to steal a whole jar-full at age 10, but it didn’t really work out. After that, they kept an eye on me. It took weeks to get through the withdrawal. I didn’t touch them again until I got adopted and Alma had me pick up her prescriptions. Imagine my surprise when they were the same little green pills. The first time, I didn’t even have to think. It wasn’t a question of if I should or if I shouldn’t. I stole half of them, and every time I would go pick up a refill for her, it was a refill for me as well. That kept me going for years.</p><p>“The drinking came later,” she continues. “Something about it always fascinated me. The smell, the way people said it tasted and made you feel. Then my mother - Alma - let me have a little here, a little there as young as 16. And, well, I’m sure you can guess the rest. It’s safe to say I have a pretty addictive personality.”</p><p>A moment passes as Benny absorbs the information.</p><p>“How many of these bottles do you have?” he eventually asks, picking up the container and turning it over in his hands, pills softly clinking as they shift.</p><p>“Dozens.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Mexico. After Alma died, all I wanted was to not think for a while. Apparently, you don’t need a prescription to buy these there. I...stocked up,” she admits.</p><p>Benny stares at the pills. “Show me.”</p><p>She leads him back into the bathroom and slides the mirror aside to show him the five full bottles stored there.</p><p>“You said dozens.”</p><p>Beth nods and steps out of the bathroom, leading Benny into her bedroom. She kneels beside the bed and pulls out a large, thin cardboard box. Opening it, rows and rows of bottles are neatly packed in.</p><p>Benny can't help a barely audible gasp. “Shit, Beth.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>It’s one thing to hear “dozens” but to see them staring back at him. It’s-- It’s heartbreaking. <em>Addicted at age 8? Beth never stood a chance.</em> Benny sits down on the other side of the box, back leaning against the bed. A hand reaches up to brush his floppy hair back away from his eyes.</p><p>“Well, I think this is a good place to start. We’ve got a lot of pills to flush,” he looks at her with a small smile. “We’ll get through this together, okay?”</p><p>Beth looks back at him, and Benny reaches over to wipe a silent tear that’s made its way down her cheek. “Thank you, Benny.”</p><p>"Anytime."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends! </p><p>Thank you SO much for all of the love on the first chapter!! I am beyond blown away by how many people read it and enjoyed it. I’ve had a lot of these scenes floating around in my head since I finished the show the first time around (literally have no idea how many times I’ve rewatched it by now) and I’m glad they turned out at least halfway decent.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They find a new normal over the next few weeks. Benny officially moves into her old bedroom, pink plaid wallpaper long gone and replaced by a modern geometric pattern on yellow, but the four-poster bed still remains. After all, it is quite hard to find good maple furniture. At night, Benny stares up through a hole torn in the mesh canopy. He can easily picture a young Beth ripping it, needing to find that place in her drug-clouded mind where a chessboard can appear and she can spend hours doing the one thing she loves. Though he is not able to conjure the same image, he still goes into his own mind, replaying various games throughout his career without much effort before moving on to starting a new game against himself. All the while, Benny does his best to pretend he’s not sleeping in the same bed Harry Beltik also once lay in - pretends someone else doesn’t know Beth the way he does.</p><p>Detoxing is harder than Beth expected. She barely remembers what it was like the first time all those years ago, but she can’t imagine it was this bad. Her hands are so wracked with tremors she can’t move a chess piece without inevitably knocking down the ones around it, and her mind is in a near perpetual fog, head pounding and nausea coming in waves. Combined with the irritability of coming down from the tranquilizers, she’s not the most pleasant person to be around. There are days, especially in the first week, that she can barely get out of bed. Life feels dull, not quite pointless, but more...excessively tedious. Sometimes, it feels as if there’s an invisible weight pressed to her chest making the sheer thought of getting up and taking a shower exhausting.</p><p>Benny is there for her through it all. Every morning, he pads in on bare feet, wearing one of his floral silk robes and carrying a cup of coffee just how she likes it - sugar and a touch of cream. They spend hours lazily playing chess, sometimes in her massive bed, or, when her mind and body are willing, at the coffee table, Beth curled up on the couch with Alma’s blue and green plaid blanket wrapped around her and Benny sat on the rug. To accommodate her useless hands, Beth usually calls out her plays as Benny moves the pieces for the both of them. She still beats him.</p><p>On the particularly bad days when Beth’s mind wanders somewhere else for hours, they stay in bed together, her head resting on Benny’s lap, his hand more often than not reaching to absentmindedly brush through her hair. The TV plays a bad sitcom in the background, and the intermittent turning of book pages can be heard from Benny. At times, it’s Botvinnik or Morphy and at others it’s Hemingway or Wilde. Apparently, he does have <i>some</i> interests outside of knights and bishops. There’s always a mutual understanding of silence. Benny doesn’t push her on these days. He doesn’t try to get through the wall that she unconsciously puts up or try to untangle the complicated web of her mind. He knows there are some things only she can work through on her own and everything about recovery just takes time. His presence and patience is all he can offer in comfort.</p><p>Beth never stops wanting a drink. It’s the first thing she thinks of when she wakes up, and the yearning for that familiar bite of alcohol is an underlying voice whispering to her throughout the day. In the beginning, she doesn’t tell Benny this, able to ignore that voice for the most part. Beth knows he wants to help - and he does - but even after all he’s seen of her, it’s hard to speak those thoughts to someone she knows hasn’t heard that constant call. Sure, he can imagine and empathize, but it makes her feel a touch too insane.</p><p>By the end of the third week, that whispering voice has increased in volume until it feels like a constant scream. Benny comes back inside from reading on the porch to find Beth sitting on the crushed velvet couch. She’s staring into the unknown and clenching her hands so tight her nails, manicured to slight tips, might break through the skin if given a few extra minutes. Instinctually, he knows it’s not like the times she couldn’t get out of bed. At those times, she’s lethargic, mind wandering and floating. Right now she’s focused, just not on what’s right in front of her.</p><p>He nudges over the perpetually set up chessboard on the coffee table and sits before her. Beth doesn’t even acknowledge his presence until he reaches out to put his hands over her's, gently prying them apart. Her focus finally comes back down to Earth, eyes looking down to see Benny massaging her palms where deep indents of her nails are. Somewhere amongst all the chaos, she finds herself focusing on those two points of contact, the rhythmic swirls of his thumbs. Through the haze, her mind says, <em>soft</em>. Chess, no matter how much one uses their hands, doesn’t exactly lend itself to tough calluses.</p><p>“Let’s go for a walk,” Benny says decisively once he knows she’s listening.</p><p>He gets up to put on his own boots, hat, and coat before grabbing her's, bringing it over to a still sitting Beth. He reaches out to her hand once again, pulling her up. She moves slowly, but still allows Benny to put the coat on her, steer her into her shoes, and lead her outside.</p><p>They start off down the block, winding suburban streets gently guiding them on their way. The leaves are just starting to change, some already fallen and dry enough to crunch under their feet. It’s chilly with a soft breeze but not bitingly cold just yet.</p><p>“It’s bad today, isn’t it?” he finally says, breaking the silence.</p><p>Beth nods in response.</p><p>“Scale of 1 to 10?”</p><p>She contemplates for a moment before whispering, “8.“</p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“Not really,” she says at first, “but I know I should.”</p><p>She lets the quiet wash over them again, trying to put words to the incessant temptation that grips her like frigid water to one's bones.</p><p>“It feels like a drink is the only thing that could keep me alive. I imagine it feels the same as someone who hasn’t had water for two days. It’s like...have you ever read about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?”</p><p>Benny shakes his head.</p><p>“We learned about it in health at Methuen,” she explains. “It’s a theory of human motivation based on a pyramid. At the top, there’s self fulfillment needs - creative activities and things that allow you to live to your fullest potential. In the middle, there’s psychological needs like feelings of accomplishment and relationships with loved ones. At the bottom are basic needs like safety and the things one needs to just exist and survive. At the very bottom of everything are physiological needs - food, water, warmth, rest. Maslow’s theory was that a person needs to have everything at the bottom of the pyramid to want the things above it. Right now, I’d put three Gibsons before food and water.“</p><p>It’s not surprising to Benny, but it’s still hard to hear.</p><p>“Sounds exhausting,” he responds.</p><p>“It is,” she admits, “but it’ll pass.”</p><p>“Is there anything I can do to help?”</p><p>A small smile accompanies her answer, “You already are helping.” She turns to him to see an eyebrow raised in question. “Distraction is the only real way to get through the mental battle. Chess usually works, but I think I needed something not so intertwined with the booze and the pills. I could never stop playing chess, but it’s probably not the best thing I could do considering.”</p><p>“I didn’t even think about that - how chess might make things worse.”</p><p>“Usually it doesn’t. Most of the time, it keeps my mind busy enough, but it can’t hurt to do something different for a change. Breathing in some fresh air and getting a little exercise while the weather’s nice is...refreshing.”</p><p>They both knew there would be good days and bad and those bad days would come in different forms. Sometimes Beth is amazed Benny is still there, taking them in stride and accepting them with the good.</p><p>The two of them stroll through the neighborhood for an hour, commenting on each house’s decorations and perfectly maintained gardens. A few of the more wealthy ones have elaborately trimmed hedges that make them laugh. Benny tells her about the latest novel he’s been reading before bed - <i>1984</i> by Orwell. Beth has never had much interest in books outside of chess. She would rather read Capablanca's <i>My Chess Career</i> ten times over than delve into a fictional world, but the passion and enthusiasm with which Benny describes an omnipresent government, doublethink, and the story of Winston Smith, well, she doesn’t think she could ever tire of listening to it.</p><p>After that, Benny starts bringing the hardest chess problems he can find along with her morning coffee. Though she’s never cared for them before, they help set the tone for the day, keeping her mind occupied for an hour and intrusive thoughts at bay, preventing them from overwhelming her before she even has a chance to do anything else.</p><p>When, on the rare occasion, chess actually does make things worse - sometimes it’s thinking back to old games with Borgov or the memory of panic where the only thing that will remedy it is two-toned green pills, or sometimes it’s just the edges of a rook under her fingertips - she gathers her coat and she tells Benny she’s going to get some air. He always joins her.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s on one of their quieter days when Benny accidentally falls asleep in Beth’s king-sized bed instead of going back to his room. He apologizes profusely in the morning, but Beth just brushes it off.</p><p>“I don’t mind,” she says. At times, being in Alma’s old room is more a melancholic reminder of the very fact that her mother is gone than a way to take comfort in what she left behind.</p><p>Sharing the bed a few nights here and there turns into every other night and at some point Benny stops going back to his room altogether. His loose button-downs and half dozen black T-shirts migrate to the closet as well as a stack of chess books on the bedside table that mirrors Beth’s own. Nothing ever happens but sleep, both simply taking mutual comfort in shared space and the occasional arm over a waist or head on a chest. As much as Benny misses his basement apartment in New York, he can still admit to himself this is much more comfortable than a lumpy mattress on a cold concrete floor.</p><p>At first, neither of them acknowledge the elephant in the room that is their previous sorry attempt at something resembling a relationship. The chemistry is still there - a constant pull between the two that existed long before Benny finally allowed her into his bed before Paris. But instead of sparks at the brush of hair or burning fire after being ruthlessly beaten at speed chess, it’s more a glowing ember warming them from within. Ultimately, though, Beth’s curiosity gets the best of her.</p><p>“Do you mind that we’re not having sex?” she asks one day during breakfast, blunt as always.</p><p>Benny nearly chokes on his scrambled eggs, a piece going down the wrong way. After coughing for a few seconds and gulping down some water, he croaks out, “Where did that come from?” brows furrowed and eyes still watering.</p><p>“I mean you have been living here for a couple months and we have been sleeping in the same bed for a weeks now,” she shrugs. “It’s been a while.”</p><p>Benny stares at her, trying to find some underlying meaning behind her words to no avail. He answers truthfully, “No, I don’t care that we’re not having sex. Not that--” he falters at the possible implication of that. “I still-- Look, I think we can both agree sex made things...unnecessarily complicated last time. But right now, you and your health and Moscow, they come first. Anything else comes second for a while, and us - whatever “us” ends up being - <i>sex</i> - it’s nowhere near the top of the list of priorities. I’m not going to say that last time was a mistake - that I was drunk and I regret it because I don’t, but I do think we should take things slow now.”</p><p>Beth is impressed with how much he’s thought this through. The lack of physical intimacy, while previously might have grated her, has since become a surprisingly welcome dynamic. It feels more...quietly domestic rather than constantly charged.</p><p>“For the record, I don’t regret last time either. Some of us were a little preoccupied with Paris,” she looks intentionally toward him, and he has the decency to look the slightest bit bashful, “but I’ve never felt anything like what we had. But...I also like what we’re doing now. I like just having you here and getting to know you as a person beyond chess and trying to out-wit you,” she admits. "What about after Moscow?"</p><p>"After Moscow, we can talk," he allows.</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually, the haze of Beth’s mind subsides. She gets out of bed more days than not, and the internal voice of her addiction quiets back to a hum, calling out to her less and less the more time passes. If you look close enough, her hands still shake, but it’s diminished enough to no longer be a hindrance to her work.</p><p>It’s then that they finally set a schedule, making their way to the dining room table every morning and facing the monstrous task that is prepping for the Moscow Invitational. They play through Russian games forward and backward, studying eight hours a day. Benny welcomes her sharp retorts and scoffs at boring Russian moves with open arms, happy she’s getting back to her old self. It all feels wonderfully reminiscent of those magical five weeks in New York where their whole world consists of sixty-four squares, bad takeout, and endless talks about strategy. Most of the time, Beth’s mind is too consumed by mastering endgames and rereading book after book to drift to the bottle - either of them.</p><p>They are usually both mentally exhausted by the end of each day, falling asleep with ease. From time to time, though, when their brains are still keyed up, thinking a hundred miles a minute through different patterns and variations, they trade secrets into the night, protected by the cover of darkness and the distance ’til dawn.</p><p>Benny: I never graduated high school.</p><p>Beth: I wasn’t allowed to play chess for five years.</p><p>Benny: I'm terrified of flying.</p><p>Beth: I wish I still had that dress my mom embroidered. It was all I had left of her and they burned it.</p><p>Benny: I’ve always wanted a dog.</p><p>Beth: I slept with Cleo. (An eye roll Beth can practically feel. <i>Everyone’s slept with Cleo.</i>)</p><p>Benny: I slept with Townes. (A surprised look and a playfully jealous scoff.)</p><p>Beth: I’ve never had a father who wanted me.</p><p>Benny: My parents kicked me out of the house at 15 after they found me in bed with a guy.</p><p>Beth: I was in the car with my mother when she killed herself.</p><p>Benny: I carry the knife because some guys mugged me a few years ago.</p><p>Beth: I have a sister.</p><p>Benny: I had a son.</p><p>Beth: I don’t know who I am without chess.</p><p>Benny: I don’t know who I am without chess.</p><p>Occasionally, they talk about things more.</p><p>“I lived off and on with chess friends for a couple years until I ended up taking the Greyhound to New York and finding a place of my own. By then, I had a decent chunk of money so I was able to afford something cheap, but I had to grow up fast.”</p><p>“My mother was never truly sane. Her brain was constantly at war with her mind and eventually it became too much. She tried to give me to my father but he wouldn’t take me, so she did the only thing she could think of.”</p><p>“When I was 19, I got my girlfriend at the time pregnant. The baby was born too early. He didn’t live a week. His name was Henry.”</p><p>But more often than not, they let those words live for a night, let them breathe and have space to exist where nothing feels real. They give each other the comfort they need until they fall asleep, and in the morning, they pack up each other's secrets into their heart for safekeeping and once again fall into their second home made of black and white pieces.</p><p>It’s a week later that there’s a knock at the door.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends!</p><p>Another week, another chapter, and this one happens to fall on Thanksgiving! To all of my American readers, I hope you are able to find a way to make this day special while staying safe. Like many people, I will be spending it alone this year and having a little solo feast. Either way, I hope a new chapter can make this day a bit brighter. </p><p>Of course, please let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beth pauses, hand hovering over a bishop, eyes flicking toward the sound. The two of them are sat at the dining room table working through Laev-Smyslov, Amsterdam 1964. They had already been through two other games that morning, steadily making progress on the current stack of game pamphlets.</p><p>“Expecting someone?” Benny asks, brow furrowed.</p><p>“No,” Beth responds, confused as he is. Nevertheless, she uncurls her legs and pads over to open the front door.</p><p>“Who is it?” Benny calls, but she’s too shocked by the person in front of her to register the voice from across the house. It’s the last person she ever thought it could be.</p><p>“Jolene?”</p><p>Jolene reaches up to remove the sunglasses from her face and takes in the woman she grew up with. The years have been kind. Her short, cropped Methuen hair has grown out to curl just above her shoulders and her face seems lighter - happier than it ever was in that dreary place.</p><p>“It’s been a while,” Jolene says.</p><p>Silently, Beth launches herself at the only person alive that she considers family, clinging to the other woman as if she didn’t hold on tight enough, Jolene might disappear. The hug is returned just as strong.</p><p>“I never thought I’d see you again,” Beth says in disbelief.</p><p>“You didn’t really think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?” Jolene quips as they step back.</p><p>“Should have known better,” Beth chuckles. “Come in,” she insists, pulling Jolene over the threshold.</p><p>Amidst their reunion, Benny has come to stand in the living room, shoulder leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. Jolene’s eyes reach him, looking him up and down. Beth, finally remembering his presence, gestures at him and he walks toward them.</p><p>“Benny, this is Jolene,” she introduces.</p><p>“The sister?” Benny surmises with a small smile.</p><p>Beth looks at him with an approving nod.</p><p>“I’ve never seen you that happy to see, well, anyone,” he explains. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”</p><p>Beth turns back to Jolene to see her brows raised in surprise. “What?” Beth says. “We lived in the same home for seven years and had beds right next to each other. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst. You always had my back, and I tried to have yours, even if you didn’t really need it. If that’s not family, then being an orphan messed me up more than I know.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Jolene gathers Beth up in her arms once more. “I always thought the same thing,” she quietly admits into Beth’s ear.</p><p>Jolene then turns to face the man in front of her. “And you must be Benny Watts, US Chess Champion. Well, former,” Jolene says with a smirk. “From what I understand, my girl here whooped your skinny ass.”</p><p>Though slightly taken aback at the dig, Benny is more impressed at her brazenness than anything and reaches out to offer a handshake that Jolene returns. He snorts, “That she did. It’s a pleasure to finally meet someone Beth calls family.”</p><p>“You know who Benny is?”</p><p>Jolene shrugs, “I kept tabs on you. Once you started getting in the papers, I would read every one - <em>Herald-Leader</em>, <em>Chess Review</em> - anything that had your ugly face on it.”</p><p>Beth chuckles in disbelief while Jolene takes a few steps further, looking over Beth’s home with a low whistle. “This whole house belong to you? How did you get this place?'' she asks, eyeing the baby grand in the living room and the modern art on the walls.</p><p>“When Mrs. Wheatley died, Mr. Wheatley wanted to sell it, so I bought it. Probably wasn’t the most financially sound decision, but I couldn’t live anywhere but here.”</p><p>Jolene is clearly impressed. “You’re no orphan. Not anymore.” She continues on, slowly moving past the living room and faintly smiling at the chessboard mid-game on the dining room table.</p><p>“Did I interrupt something?” she questions, nodding to the board.</p><p>“Just training,” Beth explains.</p><p>“Training?”</p><p>“There’s a big tournament I’m supposed to play at in Moscow.”</p><p>Jolene raises an eyebrow at her, “Borgov?”</p><p>As much as that name can elicit fear and pure hopelessness in Beth, this time it just causes a faint smile. It’s strange how much Jolene knows about her life after not hearing from the woman in so long.</p><p>“Yeah,” Beth responds.</p><p>“You gonna beat him?”</p><p>“Yes,” she returns, this time deadly determined.</p><p>“That’s my girl.”</p>
<hr/><p>Beth and Benny set about attempting to be good hosts. While Benny stacks up the books and game pamphlets scattered around and carefully relocates the board on the coffee table to the corner desk, Jolene goes back to surveying Beth’s home. The numerous trophies that line the piano and the fireplace mantle make her heart swell with pride, and she takes the time to look at each one. There isn’t a single tournament she doesn’t recognize. Her gaze then shifts over to the bookcase behind the piano. Most of it is filled with chess books, as she expects, but there is also a small framed photo of a smiling woman with curly hair, round cheeks, and dark lipstick. It’s a face she only saw once before from a window, leaning out next to Beth, neither of them knowing that day would change everything.</p><p>Meanwhile, Beth starts boiling water for tea, taking out a small jug of milk from the fridge and sugar from the cabinet.</p><p>“You’ve been in Lexington this whole time?” Beth asks from the kitchen.</p><p>“Louisville,” Jolene responds, standing straight and turning in time to accept the mug of steeping leaves Beth offers to her before going back to the kitchen to get the others.</p><p>“What brought you back here?”</p><p>“Can’t a girl see her sister once every five years?” Jolene jokes. She takes a sip of her drink - a dash of sugar just how she likes it. Her humor sobers as she continues, “Mr. Shaibel died.”</p><p>From the living room, both her and Benny can see how Beth’s movements stop suddenly, her breath catching and a shaky hand coming up to support her weight on the counter. A hush falls over them for a moment before Beth pulls herself together and returns to the task at hand.</p><p>After bringing identical mugs for Benny and herself, the three of them congregate on the living room furniture, Beth and Jolene on the couch and Benny for once occupying the high-backed yellow chair instead of a cushion on the floor.</p><p>“What was it?” Beth asks.</p><p>“Heart attack,” Jolene says. “There’s a funeral day after tomorrow. I thought...we could go together?”</p><p>Beth’s eyes shift to the mug in her hand. She’s ashamed to admit how many times she’s put off going to see the man over the years, caught up in the whirlwind of her own success. Perhaps that’s what makes news of his passing that much more painful. Subconsciously, he’s always there in every game - helping her, guiding her - the ever-present teacher. Yet, she couldn’t even manage the tiniest shred of decency to thank him. Ashamed is putting it lightly. She’s utterly humiliated at her own selfishness.</p><p>She takes a deep breath and nods. Jolene reaches over to place a comforting hand on her friend’s knee, but Beth feels like she doesn’t deserve such reassurance.</p><p>They quietly sip their tea for a moment until Jolene speaks up again, “I did bring a present for you.”</p><p>Setting her mug down, Jolene gets up to retrieve her duffle bag. She reaches in, shuffling things around a bit before pulling out a faded red book, walking over to pass it to Beth before returning to sit beside her.</p><p>“It was me all along,” Jolene says with a faint smile. “I was pissed at you for being adopted.”</p><p>“What about for being a white trash cracker bitch?” Beth returns absentmindedly, staring at the book, struck by the memories it holds.</p><p>Jolene chuckles, “Who could forget?”</p><p>“<em>Modern Chess Openings</em>?” Benny questions, recognizing the familiar cover. They already have two copies upstairs.</p><p>Beth glances over at him before opening the well-loved and tattered cover. On the first page, “E. Harmon” is written in ink.</p><p>“Mr. Shaibel gave it to me,” she says, slowly turning the pages in awe at having this book back in her hands. “He taught me how to play chess at Methuen, and this was my very first chess book. At night, I would read it over and over and over again. It’s how I learned the Sicilian.”</p><p>Beth closes the book, thumb moving to trace the embossed lettering on the front. This book had been <i>his</i> - a tangible object of his time and patience to guide a perpetually angry little girl to unknowable greatness. It’s the one item she treasured back at Methuen, and she was devastated to not have it when she left. The next breath she takes in is wet, holding back the emotion that threatens to take over.</p><p>Benny wordlessly moves to sit next to her, a hand coming up to gently rub her back.</p><p>“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the book.</p><p>She hands it to him, and he opens it with such care. He’s well familiar with the pages after reading the book a dozen times at least, but the ones he turns now are soft with use and yellowed with time. The margins are filled with writing, penciled in meticulously, noting variations Beth particularly liked and moves to remember. It feels something akin to reverential knowing this book carries so much weight for her. It’s like looking at a piece of her heart. He turns back to the first page, eyeing the name printed in childish handwriting at the top before closing it and handing it back.</p><p>“Will you come with us?” Beth asks him.</p><p>“I’d be honored,” he answers.</p>
<hr/><p>That evening, Jolene swiftly claims Benny’s usual place in the master bedroom. “You’ve gotten her for years. It’s my turn,” she simply says. But Benny takes it in stride, huffing out a laugh. He grabs a couple things from the closet and a book from the nightstand before he makes his way to the spare room.</p><p>He puts his hands up in surrender, grabbing a couple things from the closet and a book from the nightstand before he makes his way to the spare room.</p><p>The girls busy themselves getting ready for bed, changing into their pajamas and performing their nightly routine in the bathroom side by side. Though years have passed and the ensuite is a much nicer space than Methuen’s communal areas, they move around each other with practiced ease.</p><p>“I’m working as a paralegal,” Jolene says as Beth brushes her teeth.</p><p>“You went to college?” Beth replies, impressed if slightly surprised. The Jolene she knew was never very invested in education.</p><p>“I did, Kentucky State,” Jolene grins. “I got a Physical Education scholarship, but when I found out the school used to be called the State Normal School for Colored Persons, it made me want to study history, which pissed me off way more than I already was.”</p><p>“That’s hard to imagine,” Beth says, spitting into the sink.</p><p>“I switched my major to Poli-Sci. I’m saving up for law school.”</p><p>Beth looks at her in the mirror with disbelief.</p><p>“I know, me, a lawyer,” Jolene admits, “but the world is fucked up. And if I’m gonna change it, I can’t spend all my time teaching white girls how to hold a badminton racket.”</p><p>Beth chuckles.</p><p>“I’m gonna be a radical.”</p><p>“Didn’t know that was a career choice.”</p><p>“It will be.”</p><p>“Mm-hm.” <em>That</em> sounds exactly like the Jolene that she knew.</p><p>They make their way back into the bedroom, Beth turning down the bed as Jolene asks, “So how have you been, really?”</p><p><em>What a loaded question</em>, Beth thinks. She contemplates her response for a moment as she sits criss-cross, back leaning against the headboard. “It’s been up and down,” she ends up saying. “School was alright, but no one really likes the poor orphaned brainiac, do they? I found a local chess tournament soon after, though. Mr. Shaibel actually sent me the $5 I needed to enter it. After I won that, everything with chess sort of took off. Mr. Wheatley left Mrs. Wheatley after about a month of me living here, so Alma and I would travel the country together going to different chess tournaments and turning a pretty profit. When she died, though, I didn’t know what I would do. Left without parents again at 16,” she snorts bitterly, “just my luck.”</p><p>Beth pauses before continuing. “Alma also took tranquilizers,” she says. “The same ones they gave us at Methuen. I got into a nasty habit of swiping some from her and had been taking them again for a long time. And drinking. A lot.”</p><p>“What changed? I haven’t seen any pills or booze around here.”</p><p>“The night before I lost to Borgov in Paris, I made the stupid decision to have a drink with a friend. I knew it was a bad idea and I still went. One drink became three or four or possibly more, I’m not sure. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bathtub, the tournament’s director banging on my door. I went into that match a half hour late and completely hungover, and everyone in the room knew it. After that, I tried to stay sober on my own, but that <em>really</em> didn’t work out. Then Benny came. He already knew about the drinking and I told him about the pills. Along with helping me study, he’s been helping me get sober. I’ve been clean for a little over two months now.”</p><p>Jolene gives her a small smile and climbs into bed with her. “I’m proud of you.”</p><p>“It’s not much to be proud of.”</p><p>Jolene takes her hand. “It’s something, and you’re trying. That’s already much better than the alternative,” she says. “Tell me more about this Benny Watts.”</p><p>Beth smirks, “Well, he’s the former US Champion, as you know, and a child prodigy like me. He’s cocky, brilliant, an egotistical ass most of the time, such a diva, and...he gets me. I don’t know if I love him quite yet. I don’t even know if I know what love <em>is</em>, but I like having him here, and he likes being here.”</p><p>Jolene’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Well, he’s living in your home, sleeping in your bed. Whether you love him or not, it’s safe to assume you’re doing a lot more than just chess.”</p><p>Beth laughs, “No, actually, not really.”</p><p>She looks at Beth incredulously, “What are you waiting for?”</p><p>“We had sex a while ago when I was staying with him in New York. It was good - great even - but it...changed things. It wasn’t the right time and it made everything more complicated and tense between us when that was the opposite of what we needed - what I needed, especially right before Paris. So when he came out here we agreed that while we still have feelings for each, we want to take things slow until after Moscow.”</p><p>“And after Moscow?”</p><p>“We’ll see,” Beth says with a shy smile.</p>
<hr/><p>When Beth goes downstairs the next morning, she takes one look at the chessboard in the dining room before telling the other two she would be spending the day outside in the garden, weeding and planting tulip bulbs for the spring. Along with playing chess and going for walks, she’s found that taking care of a living thing and working with her hands helpful in keeping her mind occupied.</p><p>Benny joins her outside, sitting on the front porch and enjoying the feeling of pure fall. The air is clear and crisp with the slightest sweet scent from the leaves covering the ground. He begins the morning finishing <em>The Catcher in the Rye</em>, occasionally glancing up to see what progress Beth had made before eventually bringing out one of their smaller chess sets and working through a game between Borgov and Petrosian, Curaçao 1962. He’s about twenty moves in when Jolene joins him in the adjacent seat. His eyes flick up, but he continues with his task until she speaks.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says, “for taking care of her.”</p><p>He pauses his movements and looks at her for a moment before saying, “There's no need to thank me for being a decent human being.”</p><p>Jolene shakes her head. “She’s been burned a lot - had too many people leave her behind. She doesn’t let people in easily.”</p><p>Benny still wavers, “I’m not really sure what I did to earn that trust.”</p><p>“You stayed. That’s what you did. You stayed. You let her know she could count on you - that you wouldn’t give up on her when things get tough. And she can, can’t she?”</p><p>“I’m here as long as she’ll have me,” he says, and he means it.</p><p>“Being an orphan, especially so young, that’s all we really want, you know? To have people. To know people want to be in our lives and to be able to let our guard down once in a while. You learn not to get too attached.”</p><p>“I think I can understand that.”</p><p>She looks at him and scoffs, “How? Pretty boy like you must have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Never wanting for anything.”</p><p>He quirks a wry smile at her, “Not exactly.”</p><p>“What? Your parents dead too?”</p><p>“No, just didn’t want me anymore.”</p><p>She eyes him carefully, ”What’s the last thing they said to you?”</p><p>“Get out of my house you fucking queer.”</p><p>She pauses before letting out a slow breath, “Damn.”</p><p>“What was she like, growing up?” he asks, changing the topic.</p><p>Jolene chuckles lightly, “A lot like she is now. Quieter, maybe, more surly, angry. She smiles more now, like she’s actually happy. I’m not sure she had much of that growing up, except for when she could either play chess or read about chess.” She hesitates before continuing, “I’ll admit, I probably wasn’t the best influence on her. I always kept an eye out for her, sure, but I was also the one who told her to save the pills. She sort of ran with it, took it further than I thought she would. I warned her to be careful, but I didn’t stop her.”</p><p>“You were just a child too. They shouldn’t have been giving any of you those pills.”</p><p>“Sure, but I was older. I knew better. She trusted me, and in the end I let her down. And then even knowing she was right here, I didn’t come by. As much as she was family then and is family now, I was angry with her for getting another one. An upgrade, I thought.”</p><p>“Of all the things she’s told me about that place, you were among the few good ones.”</p><p>“Better be,” she says with a slight twinkle in her eye. “It’s her birthday next week, you know. On the second.”</p><p>He didn’t know. Amidst everything they talked about at night and constant discussions about chess during the day, such a trivial matter as birthdays never came up.</p><p>“We should do something,” she went on, “I don’t know what it was like with Mrs. Wheatley, but back at Methuen, we didn’t really celebrate birthdays. Too many girls coming in and out and too little to go around, they were hardly acknowledged.”</p><p>“What did you have in mind?”</p><p>“Nothing crazy. We could just do something small, the three of us. Maybe a cake if you can bake because I sure as hell can’t.”</p><p>He chuckles, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”</p><p>They soon settle back into comfortable silence, accompanied only by the rhythmic sound of chess pieces being placed down and a breeze rustling the trees.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends!</p><p>I’ve got a pretty hefty chapter for you today. At first I was going to try to split it into two smaller ones, but in the end it just didn’t feel right. We’ve got a little bit more canon to go alongside before taking a detour to Moscow. I hope you enjoy what I’ve done to it!</p><p>As always, please let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I know it’s in here somewhere,” Beth mumbles as she rummages around her chiffonier for one of Alma’s old handkerchiefs. It was early, Jolene and Beth wanting to make a few stops along the drive out to Mount Sterling and all of them wanting to hit the road before it filled with traffic.</p><p>Suddenly, her hand knocks into a small hard object, creating an all too familiar rattling sound. For a second, she’s paralyzed before slowly grasping the object and pulling out a cylindrical glass vial, no larger than a tube of lipstick. Her heart drops to her stomach at the sight of those green pills, a lasting remnant of the hundreds purged from this house months ago. How this one ended up here all but forgotten, she’s not quite sure, though, in the height of her usage, she had stored them throughout the house, allowing her to grab one at a moment’s notice. </p><p>She stares at the containers half fearfully, half almost reverently. Logically, she knows what she should do. If she brought them to Benny or even Jolene, they’d take them without hesitation and dispose of them for her. But the other part of her mind, the part already filled with an agonizing grief that chokes her, says, <em>I want to be numb</em>. Beth stands there debating between the two choices she has until finding an alternative, albeit a temporary one. Grabbing her purse, she buries the container at the very bottom, carefully covering it with the other contents. Beth quickly returns to the chiffonier to find the handkerchief she had been looking for in the first place and adds it to her purse before heading back downstairs.</p><p>With the bigger car, Jolene drives them, Benny sitting in the back between the two front seats while Beth takes the passenger.  The bottle in her purse burns at the back of her mind, but she pushes it away and forces herself to focus on anything else. Her surroundings are the easiest thing to latch onto, so she looks around the car, eyeing the genuine leather seats and shined silver accents.</p><p>“How much does a paralegal make anyway?” Beth asks as they make their way through the countryside.</p><p>“Not enough to buy this car, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Jolene chuckles. “It was a gift from one of the partners at the firm.”</p><p>“Was it now?”</p><p>“Mm-hm. He wants to marry me, as soon as he divorces the wife he’s already got.”</p><p>“Sounds like a real peach.”</p><p>Benny snorts from the backseat, and Jolene gives him a quirk of an eyebrow through the rearview mirror.</p><p>“He’s white, too. Rick, his name is. He’s teaching me how to play squash.</p><p>“Squash?”</p><p>“A game rich white people play. I bet you two’d be good at it.”</p><p>This time Beth snorts, “Benny, doing sports.”</p><p>“Hey, I can be athletic…” he defends.</p><p>“Yeah, and I can be a housewife, but that doesn’t mean I <em>should</em>,” she returns with a playful smile, looking at him through the rearview mirror.</p><p>“Anyway,” Jolene continues, “the whole firm is white. They hired me to keep up with the times. Instead of the usual Black cleaning woman, they wanted a clean, Black woman, with a nice ass and a good vocabulary.”</p><p>“You are very clean,” Beth mock acknowledges.</p><p>“When I did the interview, I made sure to use a lot of words like ‘reprehensible’ and ‘dichotomy.’ They perked right up. But I’m gone the second I pass the bar. What I want is what you got,” she says turning to Beth, who looks back perplexed. “Ugh, you’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.”</p><p>Beth contemplates her words, “So what will your fellow radicals think - you being with a rich white lawyer?”</p><p>“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”</p>
<hr/><p>They continue on their drive, radio playing and Benny and Beth eventually getting into a game of mental chess, which amuses Jolene more than she cares to admit.</p><p>About halfway there, Beth asks Jolene to turn left onto an old dirt road. Jolene eyes her for a second but complies. A few more turns and they find themselves in a small clearing surrounded by trees. Old, dilapidated furniture line one side and on the other, a trailer, deteriorated from weather and disuse and only a bit larger than a school bus. Benny and Jolene look on while Beth gets out of the car, walking to stand in front of it, before getting out to join her.</p><p>“What is this place?” Benny wonders aloud.</p><p>“Home,” Beth simply says, “before Methuen.”
</p><p>He slowly turns to look at her before returning his gaze to the trailer, his mind running through a thousand variations of a life that started out here and ended with the woman he stands next to now. There’s so much he still doesn’t know.</p><p>“A trailer?” Jolene says, in near disbelief. “Wow, you really were the gold standard for white-trash girls everywhere, weren’t you?”</p><p>“My mama came from money. Then she married into more of it.” Of course, this only creates more questions for the two.</p><p>“Then how did you end up way out here?” Benny asks.</p><p>How to explain? She was barely old enough at the time to understand what it meant, living out in the middle of nowhere with little more than the necessities. Her world was so small. All she knew was that this was her home, where she and her mother lived, and that her mother loved her. Beth at five years old wasn’t in much position to question how normal her life was. She's not even sure she could make sense of those confusing fragmented memories now.</p><p>“It’s complicated,” she settles on.</p><p>“I’ll say,” Jolene responds.</p>
<hr/><p>The second stop they make is Methuen Home for Christian Girls. It’s both the first time Beth’s been back and the first time Benny is putting an image to what he’s heard Beth talk about. They ease down the gravel driveway and through the iron gate, parking outside a large Renaissance-style mansion. There’s a rusty swing, a seesaw, and a climbing gym outside, but the place still looks awfully bleak to him. He can’t imagine being sent here as a child, so confused and alone, grieving the loss of a parent or two.</p><p>“You wanna go in?” Jolene asks. “Throw some rocks through the windows?”</p><p>Beth remains silent, watching as little girls in identical brown dresses and white blouses run out for playtime. That used to be her. It wasn’t even that long ago. She might still know some of those girls, any who got too old for anyone to want to adopt, but too young to go out on their own like Jolene had. Her mind flashes back to her days in that home, days she wishes she could forget, moments that made life feel like an endless pit of hell.</p><p>“I just realized I don’t ever want to go back in there again,” Beth finally says, softly.</p><p>They take one last look before Jolene turns the key and they make their way back out.</p>
<hr/><p>When they make a last-minute stop for gas before finishing the drive to the funeral home, Beth finds her way to the bathroom, shutting the door and leaning heavily against it. It’s been harder than she thought it would be, going down memory lane, visiting places that held so much deep-rooted sorrow. It was a lot in one day - too much.</p><p>That voice inside her head that she’s been fighting for the past two months is louder than it’s ever been.  When she hesitantly opens her purse and digs to the bottom, pulling out the glass vial she had stored there that morning, it doesn’t feel like <i>her</i> doing it. She feels compelled, as if she were a puppet on strings. She feels powerless.</p><p>A shaky hand reaches up to unscrew the top, dumping a single pill into a waiting palm. <em>Just one</em>, she thinks. <em>It can’t be that bad. I’ve gone about a day on far more and been fine. But what would Benny think? What would Jolene think? I’ve been doing so good. But it’s just one...</em></p><p>Beth stares at it for a minute longer, mind battling itself, before popping it in her mouth and swallowing it dry. She can feel it travel down her throat, a sensation so deeply craved it both calms her and makes her hate herself all at once. She quickly finishes her business and heads back out to the car, heart pounding. She knows the sole pill won’t be felt for at least twenty minutes, however, the guilt is building, shame spreading through her whole body. A different voice - the rational one in her head - is screaming, <i>What have you done?!</i> A bigger part of her, though, is far too eager to not <i>feel</i> so much for a little bit.</p><p>As they near the church, Beth becomes quiet. It’s not the most unusual for her, but it’s a marked difference from the casual conversation they had been maintaining since they left Lexington that morning. In the back, Benny simply assumes she’s become absorbed in thought, withdrawn and emotional as they near the funeral of her first chess teacher. But Beth doesn’t catch how Jolene glances at her, brow furrowed in concern.</p><p>Jolene steps out of the car first, as soon as the key is out of the ignition, and reaches the other side just as the other two are getting out. Beth is steady, but not quite as sharp or precise in her movements as she usual is. If it were anyone other than Jolene, though, nothing about Beth would have looked amiss.</p><p>Suddenly, Jolene’s hand catches Beth’s wrist, stopping her from walking toward the church, and turning Beth to face her.</p><p>“What?” Beth says, but Jolene just looks into her eyes. Slowly, she reaches up to clasp Beth’s chin, tilting her head side to side only confirming what she already knew. Beth’s eyes are black, deep black with only a thin rim of hazel outlining her iris.</p><p>“You’re on them again.” There’s no emotion to Jolene’s voice, merely stating a fact they both know to be true.</p><p>Beth breaks eye contact, looking anywhere but back into those of the only person who could recognize on sight the signs of a tranquilizer coursing through her body. Benny might have figured it out eventually, but Jolene knows Beth like the back of her hand.</p><p>Benny sucks in a breath behind them. “Where are they?” His tone is calm yet deadly serious.</p><p>Silently, focus now on the ground, Beth takes a step back from Jolene and hands Benny her purse. She crosses her arms over her chest, shoulders slightly hunched. While her emotions are dulled, something reminiscent of that guilt and shame still manages to come through. Rifling through the bag, Benny pulls out the vial, five or six green pills inside.</p><p>“How many have you taken?” he asks.</p><p>“Just one,” Beth finally says. “I found them this morning and...took it at the gas station.”</p><p>Jaw clenched, he pockets them, vowing to empty the container into the first toilet he can find as he hands Beth back her purse.</p><p>“I’m not...<em>high</em>, really,” she murmurs. “I just...<em>fuck</em>.....What have I done?” Her hands come up to her face, fingertips pressed to her forehead.</p><p>Benny’s not mad. He knew how difficult today would be for Beth and how much more likely it would be for her to slip up. That doesn’t make it any easier, though, knowing she didn’t feel strong enough to come to him or Jolene - knowing that today, her addiction won.</p><p>Gently, he reaches out to Beth, pulling her into his arms. She’s stiff for a moment before relaxing into him, her own arms coming around him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says into his chest.</p><p>“Do you remember what I told you that first night?”</p><p>She shakes her head.</p><p>“You’re going to slip up here and there. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, but the most important thing is you keep going and keep trying even when you do take a step back. That’s all this is, a step back. You were sober for a whole two months. This doesn’t erase that. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad. You know that, right?”</p><p>Beth holds him tighter before nodding against his chest, and hand begins to soothingly rub against her back. “Is there anything you need from me right now?”</p><p>She pulls back, “No, I think I’m alright for now. I really am sorry, though, for…”</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry for. Good and the bad. We can talk about it more later if you want?”</p><p>She nods again before turning to look at the church they were supposed to be heading into.</p><p>“Are you okay to go in?” Jolene asks.</p><p>“Yeah, let’s get this over with.”</p><p>An arm around Benny’s elbow and a hand gripped by Jolene, the three of them make their way inside.</p>
<hr/><p>They find an empty pew at the back of the small church, Beth between the other two. Granted, half of the pews are empty. There are only handful of people scattered around, their numbers at less than ten. The priest begins the ceremony with a scripture, but after a minute, neither Beth nor Jolene are paying much attention, Beth’s eyes wandering around and Jolene picking absentmindedly at the dirt under her fingernails. Benny simply sits quietly and respectfully, hand grasping Beth’s in comfort. </p><p>Beth leans over to Jolene and whispers, “Mrs. Deardorff isn’t here. None of them are.”</p><p>“Deardorff fell and broke her hip,” Jolene says, and Beth looks at her in surprise. “Right after you left. She had to walk with a cane after - was never the same. Made me almost believe in God.”</p><p>The priest continues, giving a short eulogy, but his empty words disgust Beth. “None of them are crying,” she murmurs to no one.</p><p>“They all look like they’re waiting in line at the bank,” Benny says, looking over at Beth, “You okay?”</p><p>Beth tilts her head back and forth in contemplation, “I feel bad. I owed him ten dollars.”</p><p>Next to her, Jolene can’t contain her amusement, poorly covering a laugh with a cough as nearby mourners shush her.</p><p>“Jolene,” Beth admonishes, turning back to listen to the priest. Soon, though, she leans over again, “I changed my mind,” she says. “Can we go back to Methuen?”</p><p>They remain at the church until the service is over. It’s quicker than Beth expected. Nobody else spoke about the life of Mr. Shaibel. Nobody shared happy memories or funny stories, just more scriptures and pointless words from a priest who never met the man he was speaking about. None of these people knew the kind man who taught her chess, just a lowly janitor at an unremarkable orphanage.</p><p>They retrace the drive back to Methuen, stopping in the same spot off to the side of the mansion. This time Beth turns to look at Benny, “Do you want to come in with me?”</p><p>Benny’s a little taken aback, but nevertheless answers, “Sure.”</p><p>Beth steps out, waiting for Benny to do the same, and the two of them make their way to the large double doors of the orphanage. Beth pauses for a moment, bracing herself to walk back into this place that signifies such a horrible time in her life after losing her mother. She takes a deep breath before leading them inside.</p><p>It’s as if nothing has changed.</p><p>Walking up the entryway steps, she can hear girls singing in hymns in Latin with Miss Londsdale. It’s Sunday, chapel at noon as always. Slowly, they make their way along the hall, their shoes loud on the old hardwood floor. Benny eyes the interior as Beth walks through it in almost a daze, her mind filled with early memories of wandering these halls.</p><p>“This is where you lived?”</p><p>Beth nods. “The dormitories are upstairs. Down here, we had classes, chapel, daily vitamins, and where we took our meals,” she says, pointing them out in turn. They both stare a beat longer at the glass paned door with a large red cross over the top, Beth mentally reliving that day standing on a chair drugged out of her mind, turning to see the entirety of the staff and children watching her. Benny, on the other hand, stares in hatred and revulsion, knowing what the people here did to her.</p><p>The sound of a door creaking open startles them, both of their heads jerking toward it to see Mrs. Deardorff closing and locking her office door. She walks away from them unsteadily, baring heavily on the wooden cane in her hand. As if sensing their eyes on her back, she turns to face them, and Beth can see a confused look in her glazed-over eyes.</p><p>“You should be in chapel, young ladies,” Mrs. Deardorff says.</p><p>Benny slowly looks at Beth, perplexed, but she simply swallows, and part of her despises how unexpectedly sad she is at the sight of a frail and so utterly lost Mrs. Deardorff.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” she responds, like she had so many times before. Mrs. Deardorff looks expectedly to Benny, and Beth elbows him in the ribs.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” he quickly says.</p><p>Mrs. Deardorff gives them a sharp nod, continuing her way while Beth turns to an open door off the main hallway, leading Benny down the stairs.</p><p>“Beth?” he says hesitantly.</p><p>“Come on,” she says, leaving him to follow after her to the musty basement. He watches as Beth flicks a light switch, a single bare bulb illuminating above a small green table. She looks around silently, walking the familiar path around the washbasins before stopping in front of the table.</p><p>“I would come down here every Sunday during chapel,” she says, her voice loud and echoey in the quiet room, “and every Tuesday when Miss Graham had me clean the erasers. I would sit there,” she nods to an overturned milk crate on one side of the table, “and Mr. Shaibel here.” Beth sits in the rickety chair. Immediately, the memories of those years flood back to her. She remembers the first time she came down here, seeing those black and white squares housing strange figures and a sullen man moving them piece by piece in a game against no one. She remembers learning the Sicilian Defense - the Levenfish Variation, the Najdorf Variation - all of which she’s carried with her to each and every tournament for the last five years.</p><p>
  <em>To tell you the truth of it, child, you’re astounding.</em>
</p><p>Overwhelmed by emotion, she forgets Benny is there until a hand reaches over to cover her own. He’s sat on the milk crate, looking far too large in the space that once belonged to a small girl. “You know, we once had a conversation here,” Beth says. “He was trying to warn me about the dangers my talent might have. He said, ‘People like you have a hard time. Two sides of the same coin: you’ve got your gift, and you’ve got what it costs. You’ll have to be careful.’ I didn’t understand at the time what he meant. I thought he was just being an annoying adult,” she breathes out a bitter laugh. “If only I’d listened.”</p><p>Benny’s hand squeezes her own.</p><p>She glances up to him, but before she can say anything more, something behind him catches her eye. It’s a board of newspaper clippings. Beth gets up and walks around the table. Upon closer examination, she realizes they’re <em>her</em> newspaper clippings. All of the articles written about her over the years have been neatly cut out and pinned. There’s her <em>Chess Review</em> covers, the very first article on her from the Kentucky State Championship, photos Townes took in Las Vegas, and even a photo of her and Benny at the US Championship when she took the title from him. In the middle of it all, though, is a letter she had once written on yellow memo paper in the middle of math class and a photo taken in this very room, her an unsmiling girl in a plain dress and a hand resting on the shoulder of her mentor.</p><p>Carefully, she reaches out and unpins the photo, staring at it. She can feel a lump in her throat and her eyes burn as tears threaten to fall, but she holds them back as she wordlessly grabs Benny’s and leads him back up the stairs and out to the car. She opens the back door, letting him go in first before following. Jolene turns to see a shaky Beth, jaw trembling as she wordlessly hands Jolene the photo. Jolene looks at it for only a moment. When she looks back up, tears are streaming down Beth’s face. Not even the pills could stop the relentless wave of grief Beth feels, a choked sob coming out and turning into wails as Benny’s arm immediately goes around her to pull her in, her face buried in the crook of his neck. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes.</p><p>Jolene reaches out to put a hand on Beth’s knee, the best form of comfort she can offer in their current positions, and rubs it gently as Benny holds her close. “Oh honey, did you bite off more than you can chew?” She hands the photo to Benny, who stares at it. He can just barely recognize Beth in the serious little girl, bangs cropped short, but the stare is so similar to the one she has while concentrating at a chessboard. The man she’s resting a hand on, he realizes, is Mr. Shaibel, the person who allowed Beth the first joy she had known - a passion that in the end created the life she has now. Part of him wishes he could thank this man for giving her something to hold onto with two hands and ultimately bringing Beth into his world. All he can do is place the photo on the seat beside him and pull Beth closer, allowing her to mourn.</p>
<hr/><p>Beth sleeps between them that night, Benny not even batting an eye when she asks it of him. The day had been more difficult for her than any of them anticipated, and he understands that she needs both of them right now.</p><p>It’s a tight fit, the three of them on one mattress, but with enough maneuvering, she rests on her side, head cushioned by Jolene’s shoulder and Benny curled around her back. She feels unspeakably safe, protected on both sides from slipping out of bed and sabotaging herself again.</p><p>“Tell me about him?” Benny asks into the familiar cover of darkness.</p><p>So she does. After all of the interviews and covers in <em>Chess Review</em> and <em>Life Magazine</em>, no one ever manages to chronicle the story of an aging janitor who taught the US Champion the game she’s so famous for in the basement of an orphanage. She tells him of how Mr. Shaibel initially refused to give her the time of day before begrudgingly allowing her to play him and soon being outmatched by a 9-year-old.</p><p>“He was a fine player,” she says, reverently.</p><p><em>He must have been magnificent</em>, Benny thinks.</p><p>“I never went back to visit him. And I hate myself for it,” she admits.</p><p>Benny pulls her in tighter.</p><p>“I wouldn’t be the person I am today without him. He gave me a chance when he didn’t have to. My teachers always knew I was smart, but he saw potential in me that nobody else did. He gave me my entire life, and I couldn't just go back and thank him? I couldn’t just send him the ten dollars I promised after my first tournament? What kind of a monster…”</p><p>They let her get it out. Endless patience, those two have for her. Neither of them interrupt her or try to give her false pleasantries. They just wait, letting her be mad at herself and experience that shame while holding her together in the security of their arms.</p><p>“I couldn’t even stay sober for his fucking funeral,” she whispers. “He deserved so much more than me.”</p><p>But they do not let her crumble. They don’t let that self-hatred consume her, not again.</p><p>“Do you really think he would have kept after you all these years if he cared about some silly ten dollars?” Jolene says. “You’re not some monster, Beth. You made a mistake. And he was still proud of you, so proud.”</p><p>“And if you don’t think we are too, you haven’t been paying attention,” Benny finishes.</p><p>Were it not for the two people she was enveloped in, Beth thinks sleep would have evaded her that night. She would have stared at the ceiling for hours, longing for a chessboard to distract her. Instead, though, the warmth and love surrounding her eases her eyes shut.</p>
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